


little rabbit come inside

by NewerConstellations



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, American Civil War, Battle Couple, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Ex-confederate soldiers, F/M, Gritty, Hateful 8ish, Homesteader Act, Homesteader Rey, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Blood, Sexual Tension, Tarantino vibes, Tension, Treasure in them thar hills, Violence, historical aftermath of war, one bed, outlaw kylo, some graphic wound care, violence against horse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-11-08 04:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17974598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewerConstellations/pseuds/NewerConstellations
Summary: ***ON HIATUS***Homesteader Rey is ambushed and left for dead in the snow in the Colorado wilderness.  Like an answered prayer, she finds a cabin– but it's not empty.  Outlaw Ben Solo is hunting for what is rightfully his and she holds the missing key.  As other murderers, traitors and thieves descend on the cabin, they must learn to trust and protect each other if they hope to survive.A Tarantino/Hateful 8 mashup and there's only one bed.





	1. In a cabin,

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on actual historical events in 1800's America. I'll weave in cultural details when it suits the story, but please don't expect strict historical accuracy. It's going to be somewhat anachronistic and a crime drama of the Tarantino variety, so a somewhat heightened experience.
> 
> There are post-Civil War representations, including ex-Confederate soldiers. They and their cause are not portrayed sympathetically, they are the bad guys, much as the film.
> 
> Curious about tough women homesteaders?  
> Article: http://plainshumanities.unl.edu/encyclopedia/doc/egp.gen.040
> 
> or a lady's layers in 1860s?  
> Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=comsRFfpBzQ  
> Article: https://www.visit-gettysburg.com/civil-war-womens-clothing.html
> 
> +++
> 
> For an absolutely delicious and finely-crafted Western tale of a different variety, please read "The Trail Bride" by @SecretReyloTrash here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17454824/chapters/41100980.  
> She has been gracious in tolerating me as I shared ideas on this story.

If she didn’t find shelter soon, the wolves would scent the blood.  

 

The skin on her left side was sticky with it as it seeped from the wound below her ribs.  Her chemise and drawers clung damply to her skin. The ridiculous thought intruded that they’d all be ruined now by the blood, _what a waste,_ but Rey Johnson had greater, more pressing fears stalking her as she staggered alone through the Colorado wilderness.

 

The heavy, wet snow seeped in through the laces in her boots and cold crept over her wet woolen stockings.  There was nearly a foot on the ground already and from the crisp, clean smell in the air, likely more was coming soon.  Rey squinted up at the white clouds in the white sky, an almost mirror image of the snow, and lifted an open palm to her brow.  Feeling had long left her toes and her fingertips. The cold would get her before the wolves.

 

The sun took a long, sharp slant through the tops of the trees.  Rey stopped, panting, each breath a small cloud. The creek was leading downhill, but she needed shelter fast.  Maybe a downed tree? She looked up and began the arduous climb for higher ground.

 

Each step was heavy through the wet snow.  She unlooped her heavy petticoat and dropped it as she walked, a smear of red painting across the white. Her wet skirts dragged heavy behind her like an anvil, leaving tracks. Someone could use them to find her before the next snow wiped them away, but she knew there was no one left to look.  They had killed them all.  Rey knew she was alone.

 

The butt of the rifle dug painfully under her arm.  It had only one round left, practically useless, but made a decent crutch.  She stabbed the muzzle into the snow and lurched up the hill. Her entire world narrowed to one thing: dragging one foot painfully past the other and then doing that again.  The wound throbbed, but the pain kept her lucid. Rey wasn’t afraid of pain.

 

Her lips began to tremble from the cold so she bit them closed.  As the last streams of light faded from the sky, she crested the hill and came to a stop at the tree line.  She swayed on her feet and blinked back surprise.

 

There was a cabin.  

 

A small square made of hewed logs, no greater than forty by forty feet.  There was no light or horses, and no smoke. It was set in a clearing like an answered prayer.   

 

Rey’s eyes beaded tears of relief.

 

+++

 

The door wasn’t bolted.  It was quiet and dark inside, no sound save for the rustling of snow falling from trees and the squeal of the rusted hinge.  She left the door open to catch the last whisper of light.

 

A few steps forward and the bone-deep exhaustion overtook her.  Rey fell to her knees with a grunt, clutching at her side and grimacing as she bent forward and pressed a palm to the floor.  After her breath slowed, she finally lifted her head to look around.

 

It was one big room, a simple square.  A fireplace and chimney of stacked river rocks took up one wall.  Nearby was a bed with a simple straw mattress and several wool blankets.  On the far wall under a small bolted window sat a crude table with two chairs.  A lantern hung on a nail overhead.  The table was set haphazardly with tin plates and forks, the kind soldiers used.

 

Rey creased her brow at the ornate cast-iron stove freestanding in the middle of the room.  It looked so out of place as to be comical, a gothic design far more suited for a parlor in Philadelphia than the backwoods.  Who would make the effort to haul a heavy stove up that hill?  For this place?  There wasn’t a homestead or farm nearby, nothing of value to make it worth the while.

 

Too spent to stand, she began crawling on all-fours to the stove.  There was a fine layer of silt on the floorboards, gritty under her palms.  No one had been here for awhile, but it was too intact to be completely abandoned.  Maybe a matter of weeks.

 

A small stack of strip matches sat on the stove.  Rearranging the half-burned logs inside, she stripped off thin pieces of bark to use for kindling.  It was all dry, _thank God,_  and in a few minutes there was a small fire burning and the air around the stove began to warm.

 

Rey pushed up to standing and then lit the lantern and closed the door. Her boots were soaked, so she took them off first and lay them by the stove to dry. She began stripping off layers. First the dark blue wool overcoat with the gash clean through to the lining, then the wool skirt, shoulder braces and light petticoat. The relief of dropping all the sodden weight sent as shiver up her spine.

 

She removed her detachable cuffs and collar carefully and placed them on the table, then her drop-shoulder blouse and camisole.  They were soaked by blood and torn, but maybe could be salvaged.

 

Rey bit the inside of her cheek as she moved closer to the light to inspect her corset.  It wasn’t the current style of fashion, but was more formal and made with a craftsmanship lost to the years.  Her grandfather had traded the local fisherman for the whale bone off the coast of Surrey and it became Rey’s after her parents died of the flu.  It was the one thing of any value she brought over with her from England.

 

The bayonet blade had glanced off one of the whalebone pieces so instead of stabbing her clean through the middle as intended it only pierced her side.  It had saved her life, along with the many layers added against the surprise spring snowstorm, but it was probably a loss now.

 

Her clumsy fingers fumbled with the corset laces as she tried to undress.  She gave out a frustrated sob, her voice hoarse and tight.  Rey finally unhooked the corset and dropped it to the floor, then followed it with her stockings and garters.  Down to her underclothes, she gingerly peeled off the clammy chemise and winced when it tore off a fresh scab.

 

Rey stood bare chested in front of the stove and looked down to assess the damage with a sharp exhale.  The blade hit home above her hip and dug in a few inches, the source of the dark, thick blood that oozed down her leg.  The gash ached worse when she looked at it, her head beginning to float.  She could feel her time running out.

 

Rey made a quick decision.  She was nothing if not practical.

 

The linen of her chemise ripped easily in her hands thanks to the tear.  She cleaned off her skin with a rag then scooped up fresh snow off the front porch to press against the wound.  Rey hissed and growled at the sting, but grit her teeth through the pain.  The cold would stop the bleeding faster.  When the wound seemed like it had closed enough, she fashioned strips of fabric into a bandage and held it in place by the tie from her petticoat.

 

Rey removed her drawers and placed all her linen in an old tin bucket along with handfuls of snow to deal with later.  She fed herself fresh snow as she worked, huddled over on the front porch with eyes wide to any movement in the dark and ears attuned to the howl of wolves.  

 

Spent and weak, Rey made her way to the bed and leaned her rifle against the wall.  Her wool skirt was still drying by the stove, so her overcoat would have to do for warmth.  Rey untangled the remains of her long braid and let her hair down loose, too tired for anything else.  Curled up on her side under the wool blankets, she pressed a palm protectively over the bandage and prayed for the Lord to take her soul if she shouldn’t wake.

 

+++

 

A crashing sound of rhythmic thunder woke her with a start.  Her eyes flew open and her heart careened in her chest in the early morning light.

 

It wasn’t thunder, it was stomping on the front porch.  Someone large clearing off snow from heavy boots that sent the entire cabin shaking.  Rey sat up, grimacing, and scrambled for the rifle as her fingers trembled.

 

The cabin door swung open and a man filled the space like a dark shadow.  Rey began to pant as she drew the rifle up to her shoulder and aimed dead center of the wide, dark chest.

 

The stranger stepped inside and with a few more steps she could make out a pair of astonished, black coffee eyes staring back at her over a flipped collar and from under a wide brimmed hat.

 

They both froze.  She squinted one eye for aim as she cocked back the hammer slowly.

 

His deep voice rolled like a boulder through the room.

 

“And who the hell are you?”

 


	2. in a wood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hitching a ride on this story! I appreciate all your comments and enthusiasm. :D
> 
> Why is Kylo Ren's horse named Epsilon? Answer in the notes at the end of the chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> Want to read about women homesteaders? They could get their own land, no husband necessary:  
> https://www.nps.gov/nr/twhp/wwwlps/lessons/67hornbek/67setting.htm
> 
> Curious about old stoves?  
> https://www.nytimes.com/1982/05/02/arts/antiques-view-a-range-of-old-stoves.html
> 
> What's a homemade travois? Think a crude hand-drawn sled.  
> http://woodsrunnersdiary.blogspot.com/2010/03/travois.html

“And who the hell are you?”

 

The question hovered in the air unanswered.  The adrenaline made her hands shake, so Rey gripped the rifle tighter.  Her aim remained dead steady at the center of his chest.

 

Light flakes of snow floated in behind him and dusted his black coat and hat.  He was a big man and filled most of the doorway as the sunrise tried to squeeze inside past him.  The stranger huffed like a bull and his breath fogged in the icy air.

 

“Cat’s got your tongue?”  His voice was rich and deep, like worn-down leather.  His large, black-gloved hands hovered inches away from his sides.  He was keeping them where she could see them.

 

Rey figured he could be on her in an instant if he wanted to.  In her weakened state, she’d be lucky to shoot off a round first and even luckier if it struck home.  His face was still obscured behind the raised collar of his coat.  All she could make out were a pair of dark eyes, less astonished than piercing now.  Rey watched him study her, possibly doing the same calculations she was of speed and reflexes.  Neither seemed anxious to test their odds.

 

What little warmth the cabin held slipped past him out the door.  Rey began to shiver.  She was still mostly nude under the wool blanket, with just her overcoat protecting her modesty.

 

She watched his gaze slide down to her chest for an instant, then flicker fast as a hummingbird back to her face.  Rey was suddenly aware that her coat had fallen open from neck to navel.  A palm-wide swath of bare skin prickled in the frigid air.  She couldn’t close the buttons without first lowering the rifle, and that wasn’t going to happen.  She set her jaw.  Let him look.

 

The stalemate held until he broke it.  “Did Snoke send you?”

 

She scowled in response.  “I don’t know any Snoke.”

 

“Then why are you here?”  An eyebrow lifted slightly.  

 

Rey returned his glare.  Clearly he could see she was alone, and thanks to the open coat that she was injured.  No one was looking for her, but he didn’t need to know that.

 

“I was separated from my party in the storm.  They’ll come looking for me,” she lied.

 

He cocked his head.  “Is that so?  Separated how?”

 

“That’s none of your concern.”

 

“I’d say a strange woman in my bed is every bit my concern.”

 

Rey shivered again, more violently.  He took a step forward.

 

“Don’t you move!” she barked and raised the rifle.  

 

He stopped.  “Before you shoot me dead from the shivers, can I at least close the door?  I’d rather be killed on purpose.”

 

She pressed her lips together at his insolence but gave a quick nod.   

 

He turned from her to light the lantern and shut the door.  Rey kept a wary watch and the rifle raised.  Her arms were starting to tire from the weight of it, her blood loss and injury quickly fatiguing her.  She kept that hidden away.  He nodded at the fireplace as if asking permission and then walked over to kneel by the hearth.

 

When the stranger swept by her up close, he was even more intimidating.  Massive and thick, his clothes black, he easily had a hundred pounds on her and half a foot of height.  She’d be no match for him even if she wasn’t hurt.  Rey gulped.  He knelt on a knee and re-arranged the logs in the fireplace.  He pulled out a pocket knife and stripped wood for kindling.  When the fire was finally lit, he leaned an elbow on his knee and looked over his shoulder at her.

 

“Now we can have a proper conversation.”

 

He rose and removed his hat, shaking out long, dark waves that he brushed back.  He unbuttoned his collar to fully reveal his face.  Her lips parted slightly in surprise.  The man was much younger and more striking than she imagined.  A long nose and strong brow offset the slash of an angry red scar that ran a diagonal across his right cheek and disappeared into a scruffy black beard.  Any woman would kill for a set of full, rosebud lips like his, but on him they served to add an aristocratic and supercilious derision to his words. His eyes were clever and fast, with something deep and obscured lurking underneath, like two deep, shining wells.  They were unsettling.  Rey found herself in need of squirming.

 

“What’s your name?” he asked, a bit softer.

 

Even giving him that seemed dangerous.  She bit her tongue.  He sighed, seemingly more from disappointment than frustration.  “Fine, have it your way.  How were you hurt?”

 

Rey glanced down quickly to see the bandage exposed.  It had bled through some during the night, turning brown on the edges.  She looked up and caught his eyes dragging back up to her face, slower this time.  She shifted in the bed.

 

“I fell,” she lied.  He snorted derisively.

 

“You don’t have a face for lies, sweetheart.”  She scowled harder.

 

“How’d you find this cabin?”

 

“I followed the creekbed down the river.”   

 

He threw her a disbelieving look.  “Why were you out this far?  The nearest trail is miles away.”

 

The stranger stepped in closer.  Rey had to tilt her head up to look up at him and maintain her aim.  Her hand began to sweat on the metal of the barrel, and her biceps screamed for relief.  She couldn’t hold it up much longer.

 

He was trying to assess if she was a threat.  Maybe if she relieved him of that notion he’d back off.  “My group was passing through to South Dakota.”

 

“Was?” he asked quickly.

 

 _“Is,”_ she corrected.  “We’re going to register as homesteaders under the Act.”

 

“You?” he quirked an eyebrow.

 

His doubt infuriated her.  She narrowed her eyes to slits.  “Why not me?”

 

He smirked.  “Your accent– you came all the way across the ocean for _that?_ Some piss poor acres of dust and rocks?”  

 

Indignation flooded her veins, hot and fast.  “I deserve a chance, just like anyone else!”

 

He shook his head and dusted off his hands as if brushing away her foolishness.  “They pass some inane law and you homesteaders swarm like ants. No idea what the hell you’re doing.  Five years?” he snorted, and her blood boiled. “You won’t make it _five weeks_ out here.”

 

She lifted her chin and bit out, “You don’t know the first _thing_ about me.”  

 

He smiled, but his eyes weren't friendly.  “I know enough, sweetheart. It sounds like easy money, just bat your lashes and sit on a hundred and sixty acres and it’s yours.  But you’ve been sold a lie.  It’s ruthless out here.  Most of you will run back east with your tail between your legs, if you don’t end up buried instead.”

 

“You’re wrong,” she smiled at him bitterly as she seethed.  “But I thank you for your kind concern.”

 

He looked surprised for a beat then let out a loud guffaw.  He shook his head and smiled at her like she just told him a joke.  It only served to make her madder.

 

“You still didn’t answer me, darlin’.  Why were you so far from the trail, did you get lost?”

 

Rey was furious and wanted to prove him wrong, show him his error in underestimating her.  The heated words fell out before she had time to catch them.  “We knew _exactly_ where we were, following a shortcut through the pass.  Poe said–”

 

His smile dropped abruptly.  “Dameron?  Poe Dameron?”

 

Rey shut her mouth, not wanting to give him anything more.  His easy insolence was gone and replaced with a sudden fire.  He clenched his jaw and hulked over her. The rifle pointed a few inches from his chest, but he ignored it.  “Poe Dameron is in your party?”

 

A surge of fear gripped her.  He must’ve seen it on her face, because fast as lightning he snatched the barrel of the rifle and yanked it free from her hands.  She yelped in surprise and pain, her hand dropping to her side.  The minute he grabbed it she realized how easily he could have done it the entire time.  He was toying with her.  

 

“Where’s Poe now?”  He glowered down at her.  Rey clutched the sides of the jacket closed over her chest.  She was utterly defenseless and at his mercy, and they both knew it. 

 

“He scouted ahead for a river crossing and then the storm hit.  We got separated.” Rey didn’t add that the bandits ambushed them after Poe left.  Everyone was dead now but for her and Dameron.

 

Maybe her look of terror placated him.  The dark cloud receded and his expression softened.  “Did you see the map?  Poe’s map?”

 

Rey bit her lower lip and the trembling returned, but not from the cold this time.  She didn't know what to say or how he would respond.  She finally nodded tersely.

 

He exhaled in a gust and took a step back from her.  He looked at the fire as he worked his jaw in thought.  His brow furrowed.  After a moment, he glanced over at her then back again to the flames.

 

“When’s the last time you ate?” he asked, voice neutral.

 

A tear dropped onto her lap and she swiped it away quickly.  She tried to remember. “Yesterday I think.”

 

He nodded then walked across the room.  He uncocked the hammer of the rifle and leaned it against the wall, boldly betting she wouldn't make a break for it, she supposed.  Without a word, he put on his coat and stepped outside.

 

He bet correctly.  Rey didn't have the strength to run for it.  She wrapped her arms around her waist and hugged the blankets closer.  Her wool skirt was across the room on the chair, her other clothes still soaking wet in a bucket.  She had no choice but to stay put and wait to see what he’d do next.

 

The stranger returned with a saddlebag thrown over a shoulder.  He didn’t look at her as he shucked off his coat and vest and rolled his shirtsleeves up over his forearms.  He reached into the bag and unpacked wax paper packages tied up with twine and placed them on the table.  He pulled out a canteen and strode over to her with it in an outstretched hand.  

 

“Here, drink.” he urged.  Rey looked up at him with wide eyes.  She was completely vulnerable, and she hated it.  She wrestled with her pride then finally took the water and drank it down.  

 

The fire and the oven worked to heat the cabin fast.  She curled in on her side and with drowsy eyes watched the stranger work at the stove.  

 

He paid her no mind.  Collecting fresh snow, he used it to scrub the pans and plates, and then boiled fresh snow down to water to sanitize the cookware and make a pot of coffee.  He unfolded a wax-paper pack and threw in a dollop of lard to sizzle in the hot cast-iron pan and then a thick slab of salted meat cracked and popped in the fat.  The aroma made her lick her lips.  

 

It was quiet save the sounds from the pan and the scuff of his boots on the floorboards.  Rey slowly gave into heavy fatigue as she drifted to sleep in the warmth watching his wide back work over the stove.

 

Sometime later he nudged her awake.  “Hey. Here.”

 

Rey sat up with a grimace.  The wound was sore and pulsing.  She’d need to change the dressing soon.  He put a plate with meat and a chunk of crusty bread next to her with a fork and a knife, then sat down at the table over his own plate. 

 

She dug into the venison steak, suddenly ravenous, and licked her fingers as she sopped up the juices with the bread.  When she was almost through, she peeked up at him.  He was watching her eat. “You have an appetite. That’s a good.”

 

She looked down again quickly and swallowed.  The canteen beside her was heavy again.  He must have filled it while she slept.  Her eyes welled unexpectedly at the basic kindness and she kept her head down.  Loathe to show any weakness, she blinked back tears.  

 

They ate in silence.  Afterwards he collected and cleaned the plates off outside.  She heard a whinny from his horse tied up off the front porch.  The stranger walked back inside and went to the corner by the fireplace and knelt down.  Rey watched curiously as he slid back a few loose boards and revealed a secret compartment under the cabin.  He drew out an axe.

 

“I’m getting wood.  Do you need help, um . . .” he faltered as he gestured at her with a hand.

 

She stared back at him.

 

“Using the facilities,” he finished and looked away brusquely.

 

Rey felt a flush rise on her cheeks.  “No.”

 

“I’ll go up the hill a bit to give you some privacy.  Just stay clear of Epsilon. He bites.” He picked up her wool skirt from a chair and placed it lightly at the foot of her bed, not meeting her eyes.  Then he scooped up her rifle in the other hand and left without saying another word.

 

Rey slipped on her wool skirt and stockings then laced her boots.  She buttoned her jacket and stepped out onto the front porch.

 

The world was draped in white from the snowfall overnight.  Wet, heavy clumps clung to the branches and shrubs of the forest around her, tiny ice crystals glittering under overcast skies.  A snort to her left and she saw his mount tied to the side of the house. His horse was as tall and dark as he was as it shuffled under a couple of wool blankets.  The man’s footprints curled around the cabin and snaked up the hill. Rey walked to the opposite side of the porch to squat and do her business.

 

She needed clothes.  Rey found the bucket and dragged it out to the porch using her good arm.  She knelt down and did her best to scrub the pieces with fresh, gritty snow.  The color was ruined, of course, the off-white linen now closer to a light clay.  But they were usable at least until she could get more. She wrung them out and dumped the bloody water off the porch.  She returned inside and hesitated before hanging them to dry. The man would see them, drawers and all. Rey wasn’t a prude, but the blatant impropriety of it gave her pause.  With no other choice, she hung them over the fireplace mantle piece by piece and weighed down by pots and pans.

 

Rey returned to the bed, spent, and fell asleep again.  

 

It was almost dark out when loud cursing woke her.  The fires had died down to coals, but Rey didn’t feel cold.  The opposite, actually. She wiped beads of sweat from her brow as she shivered and sat up, struggling with the heavy skirt.

 

The window on the backside of the cabin had no glass and was bolted shut.  She unhooked it and peeked through a sliver to find the source of the noise.  The stranger was dragging a homemade travois down the hill stacked full with firewood.  He hit a bump and a few logs rolled off and he broke into a new stream of curses.

 

It was almost comical.  She smiled lightly to herself as he restacked and dragged the fashioned sled behind him.  He moved down the hill and Rey re-latched the window and crept back to bed, turning to face the wall to feign sleep.

 

It took several trips to bring in all the wood.  He stomped off his heavy boots each time on the porch.  She forced her breath to slow. The daylight was fading fast and the amber glow of the lantern took on a darker hue.  

 

Rey wasn’t hungry.  A scrape of a chair and sounds of paper unwrapping behind her announced he was eating again, probably jerky of some sort.  After some time, she heard the dull thud of his footsteps approach the bed then stop. She willed herself to hold still. The mattress sunk behind her as he sat down and her eyes widened when she guessed what he was doing.

 

He was undressing.

 

Rey rolled over.  “What’re you doing?” she asked his wide back.

 

“Taking of my boots,” he replied.

 

“Why?”  It was a stupid question and not what she really meant, but it would have to do.

 

“Because I don’t sleep with my boots on.”

 

She felt a surge of panic.  “You’re not sleeping here!”  It was a plea and not a question.

 

He stopped and looked at her, bemused.  “Where else would I sleep?  It’s my bed.”

 

She dropped her jaw.  “But it’s– it’s not gentlemanly!”

 

He smiled wider.  “Who ever claimed I was a gentleman, sweetheart?”

 

“Stop calling me that!” she said fiercely, flustered by his obvious delight in getting a rise out of her.

 

“I will when you give me another name to call you.”

 

She scowled in return.  “So you expect me to sleep on the floor then?”

 

“You can sleep wherever you wish, darlin’, I wouldn’t presume to tell you what to do.”

 

Rey gritted her teeth.  “I have no bedroll, nothing but the clothes on my back.”

 

He looked up and to the fire where her layers hung like a curtain.  “Looks like you barely even have that.”

 

Rey blushed furiously.  He was impossible. She was far too sick and sore to contemplate sleeping on the hard, cold floor, yet the scoundrel gave her no choice.  She didn’t know what was worse, the shock or the injustice of it.

 

“Fine, then,” she began to shuffle the covers over and sit up, grunting in ire and pain.

 

His heavy hand on her shoulder stilled her.  It was the first time he had touched her.

 

“We both know you’re hurt pretty bad.  So until your party comes and collects you, you’re my guest.”  He eyed her plainly, not particularly aggressive nor gentle.  Her chin jutted out stubbornly all the same.

 

“You’re in no position to move.  Want to live in the backcountry?  New rules.  Lesson one: sleep where it’s warm.”

 

His hand slipped softly down off her shoulder.  Rey pitched her eyes downward.  She was out of options and resigned herself to the reality of the situation.  She was sleeping with the stranger.  Still, her cheeks burned in protest when she asked quietly, “Can you bring me my clothes?”

 

He collected her linens.  She wouldn’t watch, staring resolutely down at her hands folded in her lap.  Even the thought of him touching her most intimate layers sent a burst of heat to her skin.  He lay them at the foot of the bed and walked to the stove and cleared his throat.

 

The fabric was still warm from the fire.  Rey quietly slipped on her drawers and camisole.  She removed her heavy wool skirt and coat and draped them over her legs as an extra layer.  Her stocking stayed on as a paltry line of defense, protecting her ankles in a final gasp of propriety.  She felt bare and exposed even under the wool blankets.  Rey squeezed in as tightly to the wall as she could muster and pulled the covers up to her chin before saying, “all right.”

 

She didn’t turn over when the mattress shifted with his substantial weight.  Her eyes squeezed shut even though he certainly couldn't see her face from that angle.  The stranger crawled in under the blanket behind her and settled.  The steady drum of her heartbeat didn’t slow until his breathing did.  He began snoring lightly.

 

Rey pressed her knees tight together and shifted her hips.  She froze when her bottom brushed back against him. A jolt of scandalized energy rush straight through her core.  He was a mass of heat behind her, a furnace, and soon the bed was warm enough that she had to draw down the covers.  She turned over to steal a glance at him.

 

He was facing the ceiling with an arm bent behind his head and his lips parted in slumber.  It was mesmerizing being this close to him. He exuded a musky smell of smoke and grease, distinctly masculine and foreign.  The rise and fall of his huge chest was methodical, and his full lips were relaxed and soft, no longer drawn up in a sneer. He looked years younger this way, almost innocent.  Rey didn’t even know his name, yet he was inches away. It was scandalous. She closed her eyes and basked in his intense heat like a snake sunbathing on a rock in the midday sun.  

 

Rey curled into a ball and moved back a few inches, barely brushing him.  The tenderness in her side was spreading. The bandage stuck to her skin. She had to clean it again or it would fester, but that was a thought for tomorrow.  For tonight, Rey allowed herself to drift to sleep with the pleasure of his warmth behind her.

 

+++

 

It was far past midnight when an anguished scream pierced the air and Rey jolted awake.

 

Her arm shot out reflexively and found only empty mattress.  She sat up panting, eyes flying wildly around the pitch black room that was lit now only by the dying embers of the fire.

 

Heavy sounds dragged across the front porch and the cabin shook with struggle.  There was cursing and then a terrifying roar.  Rey, sweating and trembling, pulled the blanket up to her chest.  Her eyes struggled to adjust in the dark and to make sense of the sounds.  Another shrill, high-pitched scream, not human, cut through the night and she flinched.

 

Shots rang out and then a deep groan.  

 

Rey’s heartbeat pounded.  Whatever terror stood on the outside of the door, she knew it was only the stranger keeping it out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epsilon is the fifth letter of the Greek alphabet.
> 
> Kylo Ren's transport in canon was an "Upsilon-class shuttle," hence his steed's name. :D


	3. Little man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Something bad happens to a horse. There's some gross wound care and pain of the hurt/comfort variety as he helps her.
> 
> Thanks for your support of this tale and for sticking through the grisly stuff! :D
> 
> See more resources below.

The echo of the last shot faded.  Rey’s heartbeat pulsed in her ears.  It was quiet, too quiet.

 

_What if the stranger was hurt, or worse dead?  If man or beast had taken him, what then?_

 

Rey’s breath rattled through her chest.  She peeled back the blanket and the shock of the cold air sent shivers crawling up her spine like spiders.  She perched on the edge of the bed like a bird, waiting.

 

The dying embers of the fire cast a red-orange glow in the dark room.  Her eyes strained to make out the rifle leaning against the wall. Rey tiptoed over and picked it up.  The single bullet was still safely tucked inside. She clutched it to her chest and went to the door to press an ear against the rough wood.

 

No signs of life, just her own breath.

 

Suddenly, she heard a loud curse followed by another.  A crunch of snow and heavy footsteps hit the porch. Rey staggered back just before the door was thrown open.

 

A piece of darkness in the shape of a man stepped inside.  Rey exhaled when she saw it was him. The moonlight set his pale skin aglow with an eerie blue tint.  There was fresh blood splattered over the scar on his cheek and his eyes were wild and gleaming. He looked more monster than man.  

 

“Stay inside,” he ordered.  He shut the door and with no other elaboration crossed to the fireplace and knelt down to pull up the loose floorboards.  Frustration and fear pulled tight in Rey’s chest.

 

“What happened?!” she finally spit out.  

 

“Epsilon,” he said, as if that was an answer.  He stood with the axe in hand and reached for his hat.  A glint of metal winked at her from his unbuttoned coat and Rey saw a pair of six-shooters strapped low on his hips.  

 

“Bar the door behind me.”  His tone gave no room for question.  He walked out with the axe in hand.

 

With effort, Rey slid the heavy beam in place over the door and lit the lantern.  She sat on the bed and bit at the edge of her thumbnail. She had no other choice but to wait and to obey, reliant upon him as she was now.  It was a new sensation and she didn’t like it.

 

Her hands trembled as she lifted the canteen to drink.  It was no longer fear that gripped her, it was illness spreading like a slow drip of poison.  Rey folded her hands as if in prayer and slipped them between her knees to stop the shaking. She lay facing the door, her head pounding along with her heart, and her eyes drifted closed.

 

+++  

 

His fist slamming on the door woke her with a start.  It was still dark out, that thin hour stretched between very late night and very early morning.  Rey scrambled up to sitting and wrapped a rough blanket around her quivering shoulders.

 

She paused at the door.  It could be anyone on the other side.  

 

Rey swallowed.  “Who’s there?”

 

“Me, sweetheart,” his familiar baritone answered.  

 

Rey huffed and lifted the beam with a grunt.  He stood at the doorway and shook off the snow from his hat.  He walked past her and sank heavy into a chair. Rey noticed he had blood on his hands.  He caught her expression and looked down before peeling them off one after the other and dropping them on the table.   

 

“Is that yours?”  She was afraid of the answer.

 

He shook his head.  “The horse’s.” He looked weary.  The dark circles under his eyes only emphasized his pallor.  “Epsilon got spooked and it woke me. I thought it was wolves, so went outside to scare ‘em off.  But it was a goddamn mountain lion.” He snorted bitterly.

Rey gripped the wool blanket in front of her chest, as her eyes widened.   _The scream._   _The roar._

 

“It tore into his flank.  I got a few rounds off and maybe one hit.  It took off. Epsilon broke the rope and ran, so I went after him.”

 

Her jaw dropped open.  “You went out with _a lion?_ ”

 

Her concern seemed to amuse him.  “I was armed. Couldn’t let him suffer or get eaten alive by a wolf pack.”

 

Rey shuddered and looked down at the axe.  “And you– you found him?”

 

He averted his eyes.  “He fell a ways up the hill.  I finished him off.”

 

The stranger was a hard man to read.  His face kept secrets well. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.  

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

He flashed a wry smile.  “Yeah, well, he was a right bastard, but a fine-enough horse.  At least we got a few days meat from it.”

 

A hand flew to cover her mouth.  “You didn’t!”

 

The man chuckled.  “Of course I did. Think I’d leave the best cuts to the critters?”

 

It was too much on top of everything else.  Her stomach lurched, and the floorboards suddenly felt like they were tilting.  The fear and the sickness combined to strip away the last of her strength. Rey felt like she was sinking underwater as her knees gave out.

 

She listed right and he lunged and caught her in his arms before she hit the ground.  He hoisted her up and Rey’s head lolled back as everything turned black.

 

+++

 

 _Click.  Clickety.  Click._ The chattering of her own teeth woke her.  She was trembling hard enough to shake the mattress.  Rey opened an eye a sliver then closed it again.

 

Every muscle was drawn tight, like she was made of tight cords of rope.  Rey hugged her knees in to her chest. She was both on fire and freezing simultaneously.  Waves of pain spread in all directions from her side.

 

The bed shifted and a big palm pressed to her forehead.  She was too tired to react. He moved to cup the back of her neck.   _“Goddamnit,”_ he muttered under his breath.  Rey licked her dry, cracked lips.

 

More movement and the door closed with a thud.  Then he was back and draping a cold, wet rag across her brow, soaked in the snow.  The pain shocked her awake, and Rey batted at his hand to knock it away.

 

“Hold still,” he said gruffly.  “You’re burning up.”

 

“No, I’m cold,” Rey spoke through clenched teeth, squirming to get away.

 

“It’s chills from the fever.  Stop moving.”

 

He caught her wrist and pressed it to the bed.  She blinked her eyes open at him, furious. He met her scowl with equivalent ire.   _“Leave it,”_ he growled.  

 

She was too weak to put up much of a fight anyway.  She relaxed and gave in. He held the rag in place until her body warmed it.  Without a word, he leaned across the bed over her.

 

Rey could feel in her bones how massive he was, a total eclipse of a man.  For a panicked moment she thought he was climbing on top of her, but then he drew back with the canteen in his hands.  He unscrewed the top and held it to her lips.

 

“Drink.”

 

She wasn’t thirsty.  Rey shook her head. Her reflex for stubbornness was still intact.

 

His voice simmered dangerously low.  “You need to drink.”

 

“No.”  She shrunk down lower.

 

“Take it, _woman_ , or I force it down your gullet.”  

 

His threat didn’t sound empty.  She glared at him but rose up on an elbow.  Her hand shook as she reached it out and he curled his fingers around hers to steady it.  After several small sips, he seemed satisfied.

 

Rey sank back and closed her eyes.  She heard the man go outside again.

 

He repeated the treatments with the snow-soaked rag.  First her forehead, then the back of her neck, and eventually her chest.  He folded the blankets down to her hips and ignored her cries of protest as she shivered in the cool air.  He said next to nothing and didn’t light the fire, so the air was crisp and lit only by the warm glow of the lantern.

 

He was relentless.  When she shook too much, he rubbed her arms with his palms to brush down the goosebumps.  Her camisole was soaked through to her flushed skin with sweat and water. He continued to bring in the rag and scoopfuls of fresh snow that he held up to her lips.  She was too weak to resist him, and he was too resolved. The man was less a nurse than a tormentor, it seemed.

 

The worst of her fever finally broke.

 

The first licks of daylight seeped in under the door.  Rey was wet and cold, drifting in and out of sleep, her eyelids too heavy to hold them up anymore.  He pushed a wet lock of hair off away from her face and she didn’t move.

 

“Hey.”  His words roused her.  Rey opened her eyes. He was dressed in his coat and was staring down at her.  

 

“Do you need to go outside for your business?”

 

“No,” she said, fading away again.

 

“I’m going out.  Stay in bed,” he said.

 

Rey’s eyes snapped open.  He was leaving her alone. A sudden, instinctual fear made her reach out and latch onto his arm desperately.  She didn’t even know his name, but looked up at him with pleading eyes.

 

“You’re coming back?”  A thick lump sat in her throat as the words warbled out.

 

For a quick moment he looked stricken.  She imagined how pathetic she must look, like a drowned cat.  She didn’t have the strength to hide her fear from him. He was her only hope.

 

The man’s throat bobbed and his impervious mask returned.   

 

“I’ll come back.  Stay in bed.”

 

He didn’t touch her or offer any other hint of softness.  Somehow the strength of certainty in his voice was comfort enough.

 

He piled blankets on top of her and she was asleep before she heard the door close.   

 

+++

 

Time slipped and jumped.  

 

Rey wasn’t sure how long she was alone.  The cabin was dark, but light snuck through the slivers and gaps between the hand-hewn logs so she knew it was still day.  She tried to drink from the canteen once, but the shaking returned and she spilled the water down her front. Sleep kept dragging her under.

 

The next time she woke there was a clatter at the stove and a delicious smell in the air.  He was back and she wasn’t alone. Relief washed over her.

 

The man was standing with his back turned.  He had removed his shirt and stood in only his long john top and trousers.  His suspenders hung down outside his hips and his shirt sleeves were pushed up past the swell of his forearms.  He was focused on his work on the stove and paid her no mind.

 

There was a strange intimacy to watching him while he didn’t know.  His wide shoulders and the muscles of his back shifted as he moved.  His hands were large but agile as they moved over the pan of sizzling meat.  He stirred a pot of boiling water with a wooden spoon, then blew on a dark concoction and lifted it to his pursed lips to taste.  A hand raked through the thick waves of his hair.  Rey followed his movements with lazy eyes.

 

She felt a twinge, like the pluck of a guitar string. _Gratitude._ Maybe that wasn’t the word for the strange fondness she felt.  A tenuous bond that was built on necessity and the unfamiliar familiarity of living in close quarters with another person.

 

After he finished cooking the meat, he turned and saw she was awake.  Their eyes met.  He didn’t smile, but maybe they were beyond smiles now.  Rey knew she wouldn’t survive without him.

 

He poured out a cup of the steaming liquid.  “This is for pain and swelling,” he said, sitting down on the bed next to her.  “A remedy from the natives. Can you sit up?”

 

“I think so,” Rey tried.  He had to help her.  “What is it?”

 

“Willow bark and witch hazel tea.  It won’t taste good,” he warned.

 

Taste never stopped Rey before, she had known hunger.  She took a swig.  It was bitter and strong, with an acidic aftertaste.  She coughed.

 

“Take some of that down, then I’ll give you the whiskey,” he said as he watched her.

 

“I don’t drink,” she said.

 

“It’s for the pain.”

 

“The pain isn’t that bad,” Rey replied.

 

“It will be.”

 

She looked up at him sharply.  His jaw was set and his dark coffee eyes gave nothing away as he regarded her.

 

When the tea was gone, the stranger took the cup over to the table and reached into his saddlebag.  He dug around and pulled out a silver flask.  Pouring out a finger's worth, he looked over his shoulder at her.  Then he added another.  

 

He handed her the cup with a stern expression.  “This is good quality liquor, so don’t go spitting it out. Take it in quick sips, as much as you can at a time,” he advised.  “It’ll burn.”

 

Rey sniffed it and jerked her head back, scrunching up her nose.

 

“I wouldn’t do that.”  He chuckled at her, a smug smile drawing up the corner of his mouth. 

 

His amused look brushed her hair the wrong way.  Cup to lips, Rey closed her eyes and threw her head back, wanting to show him she could take it.  It was like sucking on a red hot poker dipped in honey.  She choked it down then coughed.  It took her two more tries to get it all down.

 

An almost immediate wave of pleasant heat passed through her.  She felt soft and warm, like a loaf of bread fresh from the oven.  “Lie down,” he said in a gentler tone than he had used before.  Rey studied his features for a hint of what he was thinking, but his impervious mask was up again.  His dark eyes seemed warm.

 

He gripped her upper arms firmly and eased her down to the bed.  When her head hit the mattress, she kept her eyes firmly set on the ceiling.  She suspected what he was going to do and didn’t want to watch it.

 

“Show me,” he said softly.

 

She pinched the hem of her camisole and lifted it up gingerly mid-way to her ribs.  She exposed the tender skin of her abdomen to him, empty stomach sinking down to the bed.  She was thin, Rey knew that, with too few curves for any man to hold onto or to covet.  Still, she held on to a bit of pride at showing her navel to a man and didn't want to see revulsion on his face, so she kept her gaze above her.

 

 

Rey worried her lower lip between her teeth and then hooked her thumb to lower her drawers below her hip bone to show him the full extent of the bandage.  He leaned in closer to examine her.  An exhale of warm breath hit her skin.  She still stubbornly refused to look.

 

His deft fingers untied the bandage carefully, she thought, considering how big he was.  Rey flinched when he started to peel back the corner.  The blood had dried the cloth to her skin and refused to let go of it.  

 

“This is gonna hurt,” he said and she nodded.  He ripped it off and Rey shrieked.  His sharp intake of breath made her look down finally.

 

The gash was red with white pus forming, the edges red and raised with a combination of dried blood and scab.  It had begun to bleed again from the torn-off scabs.  It hurt worse when she looked at it, so Rey looked at his face instead to gauge his reaction.  He worked his jaw.

 

“It’s not as bad as I feared,” he said, eyes flitting to hers and back down.  She couldn’t tell if he was lying. “You’ve got a good amount of laudable pus, which means it’s healing.  We have to clean it and fight the fester.  Make you a new dressing.”

 

She dropped her head back heavy.  The whiskey made her languid.  “All right.”

 

“You got anymore of this fabric?”  he asked.

 

Rey looked around the cabin and found her petticoat.  If she made it to South Dakota after this, if she even made it out of this cabin _alive,_ the petticoat was the last thing she needed.  She pointed to it.  “You can cut that up.”

 

The stranger poured her another cup of the tea.  She watched him cut and rip up the petticoat into thin strips.  The thought of him touching her most intimate layers sent an electric thrill through her at the indecency of it.  He boiled the makeshift bandages in the leftover batch of tea and hung them from the fireplace to dry.

 

He brought over a steaming hot strip of fabric and sat on the bed next to her.  “Ready?” he asked.  Rey bit her lip and nodded.

 

She was ready for it but still cried out when he lay the hot fabric on the wound.  Another strip covered the first.  He let them cool in place while he poured her another shot of whiskey.

 

“It will heal better if it’s closed.  I have a needle,” the stranger said in a low voice.  His words were heavy and they sunk into her.  He didn't have to say it.

 

Rey's heartbeat skipped as fear spiked in her.  “You’ve done it before?”

 

He nodded.  “It will hurt like hell, but you don’t need that many stitches.”

 

Rey exhaled slowly.  He capped the flask.  This time when he handed her the cup he said, “Ben.  Benjamin Solo, but I go by Ben.”

 

She took the whiskey from his hands and looked up at him.  Her name seemed like a small price to pay for her life.

 

“Rachel Jones.  Rey.”

 

He took a small dark bottle out of a tin canister and dragged a chair up to the edge of the bed.  “This is iodine. It may sting.”

 

Rey sank back down on the bed and kept her gaze firmly up.  He pulled off the wet bandages and cleaned the wound and skin around it.  The drops of dark yellow-orange fluid burned.  Rey sucked in sharply through her teeth.

 

“How do you have this?” she turned to look at his face.  He was staring down intently at his hands on her body.  It gave her an opportunity to study him up close, his long nose and the high planes of his cheeks.  His eyelashes were unexpectedly long.

 

“Army.  A man in my regiment knew a surgeon,” he answered, rubbing the liquid in with another cloth as she flinched.  “He gave me a kit in the field.”

 

“Where?” she asked.

 

He reached back into the canister.  “Antietam,” he said.  Ben stood and opened the glass of the lantern then heated the needle on the open flame. 

 

Rey looked up at the ceiling, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.  She wasn’t weak.  She wasn’t afraid of pain.  She had survived far worse, she told herself.  

 

The conversation distracted her from what was coming.  “Where’s that?”

 

“Maryland,” he answered, and moved back to her side.

 

“So you were in the war?” she asked.  He sat down in the chair and she gripped the blankets in her fists, already tensing.

 

“Yes,” his other hand splayed out on either side of the wound.  “Just breathe.”

 

Rey nodded and braced herself.  

 

The whiskey helped, as did his voice.  She cried out and planted her feet flat on the bed.  His wide palm pressed her down into the mattress as the needle pierced her skin.  Ben held her fast as the instinct to flee made her legs kick out.

 

“There was a man in our unit who had a gash clear up his side,” he said as he pulled the thread tight.  “We didn’t think he’d make it. He took fifty-seven stitches with no whiskey.”

 

Tears streamed down Rey’s face and she squeezed her eyes shut tight.  His voice was helping, anything to distract from the lancing pain that shot up her side.  “What happened to him?” she gritted out.

 

“He made it.  Just like you’ll make it.”  He pierced again and she groaned.  “You’re made of tough stuff, I can tell.  You may be small, but you’re stubborn as a mule.”

 

He worked fast and steady.  Six stitches and it was done.  He dropped more iodine on the seam and bandaged it with the new, dry strips.  Ben eased her up to sitting and cut her small bites of meat, but she had no appetite for it.  He helped her stand up walked her outside with an arm wrapped around his waist so she could do her business.  Ben waited with his back turned until she called out for him.

 

Rey ached all over and her head was foggy from the whiskey.  She settled back into bed and coiled up on her side.

 

Ben lit the fireplace and got in under the blankets behind her.  She started to tremble again and he curled around her, a large snake over her small one.  His heavy arm hung across her side and the weight of it calmed her.

 

Rey sunk back into a deep, dreamless sleep with his warm breath steady in her hair.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read more about:
> 
> Civil War Era medical care:  
> https://www.cprcertified.com/medicine-in-the-american-civil-war  
> https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4790547/  
> http://civilwarscholars.com/2011/10/myths-about-antiseptics-and-camp-life-george-wunderlich/
> 
> Mountain Lions:  
> https://cpw.state.co.us/learn/Pages/LivingwithWildlifeLion2.aspx
> 
> RIP, Epsilon, we hardly knew ye: Horse meat (sorry):  
> https://priceonomics.com/when-americans-ate-horse-meat/


	4. by the window stood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bed sharing  
> Interrogation of the map  
> More about Poe  
> More about Ben  
> oh, the turn tables (ha ha)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Friends~
> 
> Thanks for your incredible patience waiting on this story! I will continue at a somewhat slow (but hopefully consistent!) pace because of my other WIP, but I so appreciate your enthusiasm and support!
> 
> I should probably beta this, but I'm anxious to get it out to you. If you'd like to beta this story, DM me at @newerconstella1 on Twitter or Tumblr at @newerconstellations and I'd love the help!
> 
>  
> 
> Guys- Check out this AMAZING and super kind, humbling audio review of this story and other great Reylo works from @caseydoesfandom on Twitter! I love her voice and this format, and her insights are wonderful. It's delightful to listen to. Thank you so much, Casey, I'm so honored!!!
> 
> https://soundcloud.com/user-555191373/episode-1-voicemails-to-reylos/s-FZPps

Rey woke up in darkness black as pitch.  Her head throbbed as if she had pounded nails in with it.    

 

She tried to roll over but was caught under the dead weight of the man’s arm.   _ Ben’s arm _ , he had a name now.  Benjamin Solo, ex-Rebel, the man who saved her life.

 

Her mouth felt dry as sand, and her throat like she had swallowed broken glass down with the whiskey.  Her hand crept along the mattress to fumble around for the canteen. She couldn’t find it. Rey tried to worm her way out, but he was so heavy and she was still so weak.  She grunted in frustration, and Ben stirred behind her.

 

The fire had died down to the last coals.  The cold air crept back into the cabin through the cracks in the beams.  Under the blanket, she was comfortable. When she moved, the chill slipped in against her fever-dampened skin.  She shivered. She still wasn’t well, but she felt better than she had in days. 

 

Ben rose up on an elbow behind her and leaned in close to her face to try to see her in the fuzzy darkness.  His nose brushed her bare shoulder and Rey shivered again. She turned her head and tried to find his eyes. He was so close, just a few inches away, she could feel his breath on her cheek.  

 

“Water,” Rey croaked out.  He moved away from her and stretched, then cold metal pressed against her lips– the canteen spout.  She drank it down with gusto, a drop dribbling down her chin, and reluctantly parted from it with a gasp.  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and they settled back down on the bed.

 

His arm returned to her waist, heavy as a chain and locking her in place.  The gesture didn’t cause alarm, even though it should. It was possessive and familiar in a way he hadn’t earned.  Still, a hazy calm enveloped her at the feel of it. Rey closed her eyes and curled up in the warm cave of his body.

 

After her mother died, Rey hadn’t shared a bed.  It was a strange relief to be so close to another heartbeat.  She soaked in his heat behind her, seeping down to her bones. Memories rose up through her muscle and skin– safety, comfort, acceptance– the echoes of other bodies that had loved her and held her close.    

Rey shivered and then wiggled back against him to chase after his heat.  He shifted closer, contouring around her, a shadow made of warmth. The front of his thick thighs pressed against the back of hers.  Her heartbeat quickened with her breath, a stirring rising low in her gut, but she held still.

 

Ben’s arm flexed and tightened around her waist before relaxing.  It was a quick movement, but she knew from it that he was awake, too.  His breath was steady just outside the curve of her ear. He angled his head on the pillow, and his lips rested just behind the crown of her head.  He took a deep breath in and then exhaled out a sigh.

 

Their bodies held still in the embrace, but her heartbeat wouldn’t calm.  What would happen if she moved? If she pressed her ass further into him, or if she rolled over her shoulder to look at him?  Her breath hitched just thinking of it. 

 

She didn’t dare move.

 

This man had saved her, but she didn’t know him, not really.  She had his name, but Ben was a stranger. People lie, bodies can lie.  

 

She closed her eyes in the dark and didn’t think about that.  Rey fell back asleep, soft and quiet, to the sound of his heavy breath behind her.

 

+++

 

The bed moved and Rey woke again when the sun squeezed in under the crack in the door.

 

She rolled over and flinched, her side aching at the movement.  Ben was facing away from her by the table across the room. He reached over his shoulders and stripped off his long-john shirt, and Rey’s lips parted.

 

Across the wide expanse of his back, his pale skin was marked in a spider’s web of scars from his shoulders to his waist.  The diagonal hashes were white and raised from the skin, clearly not new. His muscles shifted as he reached for a new shirt, then the scars were hidden from sight again.

 

Ben turned.  She let him catch her looking.  He’d seen her at a low moment, raw and bleeding before him, so she figured they were past the point of pretending.

 

“What happened?” Rey asked. 

 

His eyebrow raised in response.

 

“The scars,” she said, setting her jaw.  She saw no need for games. “How did you get them?”

 

He didn’t react immediately, dark eyes calculating. It reminded her of the men on the wagon train when they played poker and the moment when you had to decide to bluff or to be honest and fold.  Ben smirked at her, and she knew his choice. Bluff.

 

“Which ones?  I have so many.”

 

She pursed her lips in annoyance.  “The ones on your back, obviously.”

 

“Oh, those?  I haven’t thought about those in years.”  He turned away and raked a hand through his hair dismissively.  

 

Like a dog with a bone, Rey didn’t let it drop.  “It looks like you were whipped.”

 

Ben didn’t turn, but she could tell he was listening by the tension in his shoulders.

 

“They look old, so from when you were young.” 

 

“My, we have a right detective on our hands this morning, don’t we?”  He threw her a smug look, deflecting, but underneath it there was iron in his eyes.

 

A warning maybe.  Rey didn’t heed it.  “Who did that to you?  Was it your father?”

 

He turned away and didn’t answer as he picked up the cast iron skillet and dropped it heavy on the stove.  She shouldn’t test him, but a part of her wondered what he would do if she did. What kind of man he actually was.  Somehow Rey was more afraid of his silence than his anger.

 

“So it  _ was _ your father,” she said.

 

Ben spun around, eyes narrowed.  “No, it was another goddamn bastard.  There’ve been several.”

 

“Who?”

 

His eyebrows drew together.  “Why do you care?”

 

“Why shouldn’t I?” she countered.  “I don’t know anything about you.”

 

“I could say the same, Madam.”  He took a step forward. “Where are your friends?  We’ve had a fire for two days now, they would’ve seen the smoke if they were out looking for you.  Where are they?”

 

Rey dropped her gaze.  It was easier to lie this way, he saw too much.  “They’ll come back.” 

 

His tone changed to something sweeter.  “ _ Hmm. _  Maybe not.  Maybe they forgot about you.  Maybe they’re already left.”

 

Rey’s eyes snapped back to his, fresh with the memory of red blood soaking into white snow.  Her voice came out low and tight. 

 

“You don’t know _ anything _ about them.”

 

He looked as pleased as a cat that caught a canary.  “I know they aren’t out looking for you, sweetheart. You’re on your own.”

 

Rey pressed her lips together in a tight line.  He dragged a chair up from the table and sat down in front of her, thighs spread wide.  Ben leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his fingers laced together. Rey sat up straighter in the bed and pulled the blanket to her chest to cover the thin linen of her camisole.

 

His eyebrows raised as he softened his tone like a patient teacher.  “Now let’s talk about that map you saw. The one Poe Dameron had.”

 

Rey breathed in slowly as her nerves began to jump.  Ben was controlling his features to appear gentle, but there was a glint in his eyes.

 

He looked down at his hands.  “See, I need that piece of the map.  You saw it. So we can help each other, Rey.”

 

She studied him.  He knew no one was coming for her and that she was weak.  She still needed him, they both knew that. Rey didn’t hold many cards in her hand and this wasn’t a fair game, but she did hold one.

 

The map. 

 

“How do you know Poe Dameron?”  she asked.

 

Ben leaned back in his chair and regarded her.  She thought his expression looked interested, as if her response pleased him.  She could see he liked to play games. 

 

“I’ve known him for years.”

 

“How?”

 

His smile was quick, but not easy.  “We grew up together.” 

 

She waited for more.

 

His jaw worked.  “And we served together in the Army, same company.”  

 

“What’s this map for?”  she asked. “Why did Poe have it?”

 

Ben tilted his head slightly.  She could see the gears of his mind working along with his jaw.  He was figuring out how much to give her to get what he wanted.

 

“I’m not sure what it’s for, actually.  We each have a piece. We were meeting here to trade, but he’s late.”

 

“That’s not possible.  Poe put together my homesteader party, he was leading us through the pass,” Rey answered quickly, then caught herself.  “He  _ is _ leading us, I mean.”

 

“Is he?”  Ben asked with a smirk, catching her slip.

 

She bristled.  “Yes.”

 

“How well do you know Poe Dameron, Rey?”

 

Her breath quickened to shallow breaths as the air in the cabin grew thin.  She felt lightheaded.

 

“I– I met him in Kansas City, from his newspaper ad.  When he put together the wagon train.”

 

Ben leaned forward again, eyes piercing her.  “So why didn’t he take you straight north from there?  Why come west to Colorado first?”

 

Her spine prickled.  Rey shook her head feebly.  “He said the supplies were in Denver, the wagons . . . that the path was better . . .”

 

“Better through the mountains?”  He laughed sharp, like a whip crackling in the air.  “You all paid in advance, didn’t you?”

 

Her stomach felt hollow.  Rey suddenly felt very small and alone.  All alone in the world. 

 

Ben looked at her and then sighed, relenting the assault.  “Don’t blame yourself, he’s always been a charmer. He’s not some proper gentleman like you’re used to on your island.  Welcome the wild west, sweetheart.”

 

Rey grit her teeth and her eyes darted up to him.  He was so damned arrogant. The force of her anger held back the bitter tears threatening to fall.  

 

“You’re despicable,” Rey spit out.

 

Ben laughed, surprised.  “Why? Because I’m telling you the truth?”

 

“No, because you’re enjoying it.”

 

His smug smile wavered and fell.  He stared back at her as his eyes simmered.  “You saw the map. I need it. You’re going to give it to me.”

 

She had very little in the world, but she had her pride.  “And if I don’t? If I won’t give you anything?” 

 

“Then we’ll have a problem.”  He stood and scraped the chair back on the floor.  His size alone was an implied threat. She blinked up at him stubbornly.

 

The stand-off ended when the edge of his lip curled up into a smile.  “But I’m not worried. You will. Then I’ll help you get where you’re going.”  He stepped away from her to grab his coat and hat.

 

“The meat won’t hold, the snow’s melting now.  I’ll cook up the last cuts today. Think you’re strong enough to move yet?”

 

She crossed an arm around her waist and closed her eyes.  The truth hurt her wound as much as her pride. She shook her head.

 

“You will be soon.  If your friends don’t come find you first.”  He smiled and then closed the door behind him before she could properly glower back.

 

+++

 

Rey waited until she was sure Ben was gone before trying to stand.  

 

She sat up in bed and her hand hovered over the stitches protectively as they pulled tight with each movement.  Her stocking feet hit the cold wood and she pushed up to standing and shuffled over to her boots.

 

Her camisole was ruined with sweat and blood.  The rip in the side hung loose over her bandages.  Rey knew she was thinner, all bones and stringy hair, like a rat dragged out of the rainbucket.  She slipped on her boots and moved cautiously to the front door.

 

It was a beautiful early Spring day.  The big, blue sky made her blink at the brightness, small puffs of clouds dotting it like whitecaps on the sea.  The storm had passed and the world was back in color. All the tree branches sparkled as the sun melted the snow down into the earth.  She took in a big breath of crisp, clean mountain air.

 

Rey held on the railing as she did her business off the side of the porch.  Her stomach rumbled in angry reminder that she needed to eat. She walked to the far side of the porch and looked up the hill into the woods where Ben had gone.  She hated how reliant she was upon him. Her eyes fell down to the dark brown splotches sinking into the snow where Epsilon had been attacked by the lion.

 

_ Rest in peace, Epsilon, I hardly knew ye,  _ she thought.  She remembered where Ben was getting the last cuts of meat, and turned sharply back to walk inside.

 

Rey stoked the fire that he had started that morning and then heard the clunk of his boots on the porch.

 

He walked inside and set the tarp bag on the table where he had bear-bagged the meat.  He carried over a flame to light the stove, then scooped out some lard for pan.

 

Rey kept facing the fireplace, arms crossed.  She watched him cook from the corner of her eye, but refused to give him the satisfaction of forgiveness or conversation.

 

He kept looking up at her then back again to the pan.  He cleared his throat.

 

“I was not a good child.”

 

Rey frowned and turned to face him.  It was not anything she expected to hear.

 

“I was willful.  Disobedient. I was judged not deserving of my family’s good name.  My parents had no use for me, so they sent me away to my Uncle’s boarding school when I was thirteen.”

 

He peeked up at her long enough to see she was listening, then busied himself over the food.  

 

“My Uncle was a stern man and tried to teach me discipline.  I refused to learn. We came to blows one night, and he finally washed his hands of me entirely.  I was sent to a military academy down south that used a  _ stronger hand _ .”

 

Rey’s heart clenched at the way he said the last words. 

 

“I suppose I finally found my place there.  My anger did need a strong hand, and they helped me temper it like a blade.  My family had turned their backs on me, not that I blamed them, so I had nowhere else to go.”

 

_ Alone.  All alone. _

 

“There was talk of a rebellion and the Confederacy seceded.  My family in Philadelphia sided with the Union, of course, but I was down in military school in Virginia.  My entire class formed a company under our Head Master, Dameron included, and we became rebels.”

 

He flipped the meat in the pan with a sizzle.  He looked up at her with face as cold as stone.

 

“Dameron and I were patrolling when we came across a pair of Union deserters.  They sold us this map for their freedom. We split it and agreed to partnership, but Dameron betrayed me and tried to steal it.  He’s a scoundrel and a traitor. We made amends long enough to meet here again, a temporary truce.”

 

He lifted up the meat and placed it on the plates.  “And then you showed up.”

 

Rey swallowed thickly, her mouth watering at the smell of the fried meat.

 

She made her way to the table and sat across from him.

 

“What is the map leading to?” she asked quietly.

 

“I don’t know exactly, but something of untold value.  Something men are willing to kill and die for.”

 

She looked up as he took his first bite.

 

“You think Poe was trying to betray you again?”

 

“What do you think?”  

 

She looked down at her plate and cut into her meat.  Her world had shifted, and she had to shift with it.

 

Rey took a breath and stared up at him boldly.

 

“I think Poe Dameron is dead.”

 

Ben stopped chewing.

 

“I think I'm the only other person alive who has seen the map.  And I think you need me as much as I need you.”

 

As Ben stared at her, frozen, Rey cut into her meat and chewed it slowly, savoring it.

 

It tasted delicious.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please share your thoughts! 
> 
> Find me in the comments below or on Twitter at: @newerconstella1 
> 
> or Tumblr at: @NewerConstellations


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